


Alone We Would Fall

by SmokeGetsInYourEyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Soul Eater
Genre: Child Soldiers, Crossover Pairings, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Magic, Magical War, Master of Death Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmokeGetsInYourEyes/pseuds/SmokeGetsInYourEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" WHO THE HELL IS THIS BASTARD?!" It was, predictably, an infuriated Blackstar, his eyes narrowed suspiciously and finger pointed accusingly at Harry's lounging silhouette. Death took the opportunity, however to sweep to the side, hands out as if showing off a flashy piece of jewelry.</p>
<p>" This, my dear staff and academy student, is our very own wizard, our soldier extrordanaire and- " unfortunately, "- the one and only, Master of Death."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone We Would Fall

**Author's Note:**

> First work here- please be kind! Harry, as I'm told seems rather God!Mode but he really really is not. He's just OOC. Pretty much everyone is....I sincerely apologize for that....heheh

 

The room shook with the force of all the shouts of outrage and passion and desperation as the messily arranged group of Weapons and Meisters clambered over each other to reach the central podium where Death stood, quiet and regal in the face of their horrified panic. He towered a good three heads above the writhing mass of students and worried staff, watching keenly and a bit tiredly for anyone to move and calm the wild crowd down. Several students lingered at the fringes of the mesh of people, an odd clump of friends that dallied against the courtyard wall in the shadows utterly silent save for the furious whispers they traded among themselves. A loud shout of anguish and despair as the Meister Blackstar, a stocky, blue-haired teen with a round face and loud voice reluctantly recalled the details of his failure. Death sighed at the girl opposite him's face. She was skinny and lithe and her round olive face was twisted in frustration. The children around her murmured words of shared anger, resolution and comfort.

 

Maka was always quick to anger, proud and fearless and self-assured, mostly, and if Death listened to the utter drivel that the total idiot that was his Death Scythe spewed like a business campaign, absolutely perfect in each and every way. Not true of course, she was as flawed as she was otherwise, but Maka was talented, very talented and she and Soul were strong together, almost inseparable, and the battles they fought were breathtaking. He had high hopes for the twig-like , twin-tailed girl, once she loosened up and relaxed, after all, she was a fellow Scythe-Meister.

 

He regretted sending her and her friends off to protect what he should have been able to keep a secret, locked deep beneath the school and sealed in the darkest corners of the basement-like catacombs that laced the foundation of the DWMA like a sewer. But they were among the strongest students in the school. They had, at one point, been but a soul away from Soul, Maka's Scythe, becoming one of his own personal weapons, which would have been exciting to say the least. It was no secret how opinionated Soul could be, especially with Maka fuming on his back, and brandishing one of her heavy-set text-books.

 

The were children still. Maka was fond of being in charge, of planning things out to the smallest of details, and of keeping every situation under control. Soul liked to fight and fight and fight, to be cool, and do whatever it was he wanted to do at the time, and drop everything else unless someone had a gun to his back, or, in Maka's case, a book to his head. Blackstar loved being the center of attention, being and bright and the very best, while Subaki liked to follow, help and support.

 

No, they were far from being polished. Death needed someone who wasn't young and stupid and ( probably ) in love. He needed someone who could stare death in the face and laugh, someone who could look at a map and say, " There he is", someone who could take charge, command, endear himself to the masses, and lead the battle to victory with nary a doubt towards loss; and there was only one person who could do that. Only one person who could outshine even his little ducklings of the academy, who could beat him on the battle field and save the world in the process.

 

" EVERYBODY, STOP."

 

The crowd stilled with an audible gulp of shouts and angry roars being swallowed hastily. Death peered at the ensuing nervous stillness with a sort of curious bemusement, before "hmmm"-ing his approval rather noisily.

 

" I believe it it time, " he began loudly, clearing his throat and speaking above the renewed whispers that ripped through the shuddering crowd, " -I believe it is time you all learn of the truth."

 

Wide, innocent eyes turned his way with bated breath, foreheads crinkled in confusion and bodies taught with excited and wary tension.

 

" It is no longer looming on the horizon, this is here and this now, this is all of you, students and staff of the DWMA and me, Death.We will be at war." The crowd once more erupted into noisy jeers and calls from the silence.

 

" Silence!" silence fell, " This is a war. A war between us-"Death gestured grandly with one overly-large white hand, in one sweeping arc across the courtyard, eyeing the still figures of Maka, Soul, Blackstar, Crona, and Subaki and noting the light of trepidation in Crona's pale, jaded and nervous eyes, and the fierceness shining from the others." -and the Kishin. He will not be alone, he will battle alongside the Witches and together they will seek to destroy us all… But that's fine, because we are not alone, either. Alone we would fail-"

 

Cries of outrage rose like the roar of the ocean from the crowd.

 

" No! It is true, so shut up, all of you." Daeth frowned, pouting in annoyance as he waited for the hissing and muttering to die down, " I have brought you here not to hear you whine. You can do that amongst yourselves. No I have brought you here to meet a colleage of mine, and a dear old friend."

 

How untrue that was. The man was utterly astounding on the field, many agreed with him on that, but outside he was unbearably gloomy and awkward and vehement. Death couldn't count the number of times the dark-haired boy had slammed him into a wall in a fit of rage triggered, seemingly, from the use of his name, the use of his title, or, oddly enough, the endearing sight of Deaths mask. Death had watched him burst in silent tears when certain songs were played or certain names called, or book-titles read, or favors asked. Creepiest of all was when the boy grinned, which should be never, he was much too pale and gaunt for something so human as GRINNING. 

 

" His name is…"

 

Silence. The wind blowing through the hushed mashes. The eerie screech of failing machinery as the cogs in Death's brain slowed to a violent stop. Name?… He had a name.

 

" His name is…."

 

Again the baited breath. A slight tap on the head, closing his 'eyes' didn't work, sodding, shaking his head no…. Nothing. No name. Nada. Information never uploaded.

 

" Harry." It wasn't death that spoke, the voice was deeper, rougher, rounder, and younger all in one, and it emanated somewhat amusedly from behind Lord Death thin back. The aura of the voice was unmistakable, bright and stinging and hot like summer and earl grey tea. Death hadn't noticed him arrive.

 

" Oh, thank you. I always seem to forget. It is quite normal though, isn't it… Forgettable."

 

" I wouldn't know, I've always remembered it myself. Never got around to changing it."

 

Death sighed and, reluctantly, turned to face the slip of a man standing behind him.

 

" Such a shame, you are rather pretty-"

 

Bright emerald eyes glimmered nastily at him and the polite, tired smile ghosted across his pale, drawn features for but an instant before being swallowed by the shadows of his dark, scraggly black hair. The man slouched in his baggy shirt and ripped jeans, having appeared silently, or, semi-silently, behind Death the moment the tall, black-robed Meister had conjured an image of him in his head, looking tired and out of place in the middle of the gathering of tense, wide-eyed, gaping-mouthed students ( and staff ). He looked no older than seventeen.

 

" -Master."

 

The bow was low and sweeping, the tip of Deaths elbow brushing the floor at his Masters feet for a single instant before Harry's warm white hand was pressed on his shoulder with a sigh of aknoledgement. Death sprang back up, intent on ignoring the yawning figure behind him in favor of his cute, cute students. His cute, cute student who were staring at him in shock and astonishment, jaws slack in amazement and silent for the entire, confusing exchange.

 

" WHO THE HELL IS THIS BASTARD?!" It was, predictably, an infuriated Blackstar, his eyes narrowed suspiciously and finger pointed accusingly at Harry's lounging silhouette. Death took the opportunity, however to sweep to the side, hands out as if showing off a flashy piece of jewelry.

 

" This, my dear staff and academy student, is our very own wizard, our soldier extrordanaire and- " unfortunately, "- the one and only, Master of Death."

 

**\-------2-------**

"They are the students of my academy! They have the right-!"

 

"They have the right to die?! They have the right to hold their bleeding friends in their arms as the light slips from their eyes?!"

 

"THEIR LIVES ARE THE ONES BEING THREATENED, THEY HAVE THE RIGTH TO FIGHT BACK, HARRY!"

 

"THEY HAVE THE RIGHT TO WITNESS WAR, AND THEN MAKE THEIR OWN FUCKING CHOICE."

 

Harry's arm, which had been knotted in the front of Lord' Deaths robes loosed and fell, and with a look of utter disdain, the wizard stepped backwards. He stared down his nose at the man, and hissed softly through his teeth; as if he was speaking, but the words had been swallowed by the sibilant, textured overtones of his gravely throat. Immediately, his entire frame wavered, as if the wind had blown straight through him. The man beneath him lurched forwards, but a tennis-clad foot slammed abruptly into his chest, and he skidded backwards.

 

"Harry!" he roared, "Don't you dare walk away from this!"

 

"Watch me, Lord." snarled the boy, " Call me again when you are willing to listen to sense."

 

The last word dissolved into a guttural hiss- and with a frightening roar, he was swept away by a sudden gust of wind, the colors of his hair and flaming emerald eyes bleeding into nothing, like dust swept away by a harsh current- just as the Lord Death lunged forward with a muffled, squeaky curse of frustration. His outstretched hand swept through the phantoms smirking, cold cheek, leaving his large white hands empty- and he fell harshly onto his knees. The whipping wind swallowed his last, desperate howl of 'Harry!'.

 

The sudden gale tapered off with a soft whistle, flaming until the last, fluttering edges of Lord Death's ghostly black cloak had settled around him, pooled like dark despair over the floor.

 

"Damndamndamn. Harry, you fool!" he growled lowly, shaking around his clenched fists. The ivory mask disappeared beneath a flutter of cloak as one skinny black arm jerked up and then slammed back down, smashing through  thin layer of concrete. " Why can't you see we have no choice?!" he bit out, and as if his own words sparked a defiant conviction, the Lord threw back his broad shoulders.

 

He still did not stand, but his frame melted into a somewhat more comfortable position, poised over the floor in a crouch, fisted glove still poised in the middle of a small tuft of dusty smoke, "I do not have a choice." he said again, to the room, to himself, determination thready in his voice, " WE have no choice- we have enemies, we have allies, we are at war."

 

"Do you hear me Harry, WE HAVE NO CHOICE!"

 

 

*******************************************************

 

Kidd shivered from behind the door, his hands clenching in an effort to sooth the spasms wracking his fists. His guns inside of his hands felt cold and slick with nervous sweat, and the rest of him so HOT by comparison. Oh, how he wished he and enough courage to go in there and confront that wimpy-looking man who dared to confront his Father in this manner- to go farther than that, and assault him… The insolence, and more than that, the cold, deadly, fury the guy held in his every word, was so unlike his first impression- it was completely unnerving. 

 

And he had Kidd shaking against the walls.

 

Harry had seemed at first, to be a gentle person, herded by Lord Death through the pressing chaos of the crowd to the personal chambers with hunched shoulders and arms elbow deep in his cavernous pockets. His gaze had been riveted nervously on his shoes and he was jostled forcefully through the throng, twitching as accusations and frantic questions and furious calls were flung his way- and Death the Kidd had very carefully supported his father in that- shoving the enthusiastic crowd out of the way and dealing ruthlessly with weapons and bits of meister waved too close to the guest for comfort.

 

His face, young and tired, had broken into a quiet but sincere smile at his vague introduction, and he had been genuinely relieved when he had been tossed inside the doors and the crowd locked OUT.

 

Then Death had began talking to Harry, and things had all fallen apart. 

 

Kidd remembered the dawning coldness spread like ice across those soft features, the crushed cup of tea falling from bleeding white fingertips to shatter across the floor. Bright, bottle-green eyes darkening with fire, cheeks draining of color, entire body tensing and straightening until his petite frame seemed to the tower, quivering with  indignant fury, anger and bloodlust unseen by Death as he rambled on.

 

 His cloaked back was turned towards Harry as he gazed soulfully at his mirror, posture and gestures dramatic and mysterious, as if this was all a GAME, and heck, no-one had seemed to mind, but Harry seemed to, because in the next instant he had strode over to Lord Death and spun him around, small hands finding their way to the front of the taller mans robes and fisting there, and Harry had ROARED.

 

The power had been shocking, like a corona of flames bursting into flight around him, blotting the world out with streaks of blinding gold-white.

 

Flames that had pulled at something deep inside of Kidd, like nausea, pulling at his gut, and it had taken all of his effort not to heave right then and there, emptying his stomach of his breakfast. Everything had swirled around inside of him, that buzzing hot energy entering him, streaming in through his tearducts, and nose and mouth and ears, and moving inside of him- like burning snakes, moving him, HURTING him.

 

He blacked out for a while, ears still ringing from Harry's furious roar, and his own, throaty scream of pain and surprise, surrounding blearily to the darkness, unable to even cough any more. That amount of time, he couldn't remember, whether or not someone had pulled him front he room, or he had crawled there himself, but he and woken, slumped against the door, too terrified to even check if a fight had happened, if Harry was still in their with his father, if his after was still ALIVE…

 

He opened the door to the dark silhouette of his father, pacing across the floor, whole and alive, and _alone_. 'Ignore the relief…ignore it…' he thought furiously, but still feeling weak in the knees from where he clasped the handle of the door.

 

"…What happened." he croaked, but his father didn't turn towards him, didn't stop pacing swiftly from one need of the room to the other, " Dad?"

 

"Harry left."

 

Kidd let his eyes slide shut as he bowed, shakily, and tread softly from the room, harshly turning his head from the scorch marks adorning the walls and the mini crater in the middle of the floor. The door shut behind him with a soft click.

 

Kidd clenched one, pale hand, letting up only to let his weapons morph back into the pair of sisters he knew and loved. He ignored their fluttering, worried hands, their forced, boisterous chatter, the sound of their uneven footsteps dancing around his angry ones. He clenched his fists, and opened his eyes, remembering that frightful power- the heat and light, the caress of terror blooming behind his eyes. He remembered that fractured green gaze, alight his righteous violence, hair like a midnight storm, whipping around bloodthirsty features.

 

He needed to get stronger.

_________________________________

 

It was a cold, snowy day, and Maka suddenly felt that she was going to come across something cliche. The sky was a soft, feathered gray, the road and alleys paved slightly with a silver-white sheen of frost, broken by trails of footsteps, but empty in most direction, save for Maka, bundled up in a thick red scarf and a heavy grey jacket, her groceries clutched tightly to her chest, and breath pluming in front of her in small white clouds. A chill traveled down her spine, darkening and sharpening her eyes, ripping through her fingers with a violent need- and no reason beside puzzling dread- to hold SOUL in that moment, to have a weapon, any weapon.

 

Then.

 

A shadow melted out from an alley, darkness stretching and snapping over a swell of human shape and features. Streams of frayed black inkiness felt to the snow like flailing tentacles and retracted slowly into the alley, leaving the short, swaying form of a young man behind. Maka froze. The man's head turned. Dark hair, she noted absently, the majority of her brain cursing and flailing and trying to stay really, really, silent all at once (Idon'thaveaweaponIdon'thaveaweaponSoul!). 

 

Dark hair and bright eyes. The mans curious gaze found hers and bored into her.

 

"Who-" she suddenly felt like she was having a rather heavy headache, and dropped her groceries. The paper bag crumpled messily onto it's side, soaking through and spilling out her bag of radishes. Her eyes were glues to the mans, and she watched helplessly, angrily, as he took several measured steps forward.

 

"Are you a meister?" he asked softly, and she felt the ridiculous need to stiffen- for some reason though she remained…frozen.

 

"I-" _Yes._ The mans soft smile brightened and grew wider, and the headache swiftly abated into a steady throb at the back of he head. She still couldn't move, and her mouth wasn't working quite right, but her wavering fingertips raised jerkily to clutch at the mans sleeve -he wore a summer shirt, tattered and covered in foodstains- and managed a shaky, " Do I know you."

 

It didn't cross her mind that it sounded a bit flirtatious, but his next actions certainly made her hope it hadn't been. "Yes, yes, you do know me." he said gently, " My name is Harry." He bent down and picked up her groceries, which was weird, because Maka was left staring at the space he had just occupied, unable to move her gaze anywhere else. The cold began seeping into her boots. 

 

Harry straightened, after a bit, lips flashing into sheepish smile as he handed her bag back to her- dry and tingling pleasantly with warmth where her arms had wrapped mechanically and of their own accord around them." I'm sorry about that, by the way, " he murmured, " You probably don't remember me, don't try too hard."

 

But she could.

 

 She could remember her own shock, and green eyes and a pale white hand elegantly brushing the dark line of a shoulder, like some ancient ritual. Nothing much more than that. She said so, the words difficult to push out, and the man momentarily looked surprised. He was an ally- though the thought terrified her more than it should have.

 

"Oh. Okay then." he frowned, " Can you pass a message on for me then, Meister,  to lord Death?"

 

She didn't nod, tentatively or not- because the man obviously wasn't human, and who knows, though he seemed nice enough beyond the whole intimidation-freezing-controll-thing (he HAD dried her radishes), that might just be a load of crap. He could even be an alien, for all Maka knew. He seemed to take her silence for 'yes' though.

 

"Thanks. Just tell him that…I'm willing to….talk. Just maybe not to him." he chuckled lightly, " He makes me MAD, sometimes. Here-" One white hand brushed gently across the curve of the scarf, where it wrapped tightly around her neck, " You look cold."

 

A burning warmth slowly spread across her face and skin, her hair, which was slippery with wetness, her soaked boots and quivering legs- like a breath, ghosting over her and leaving her feeling warmed and dry. Maka felt her eyes widen, saw, intimately, and with awe, as the mans green eyes- which still drilled into hers- glowed with glimmering emerald sparks, like magic, dancing around pitch pupils. Then the light dimmed, the hand reluctantly snapped away from her buzzing, suddenly sweaty skin, and with a whisper, haunting and sibilant, the shadows had swallowed him up, leaving behind a pristine world, weak legs, and,

 

No footprints.

 

**1**

" Here." sighed Kidd, dropping a thick white manilla folder, bulging with stained leafs of mismatched papers- on the table before Maka, before sliding into a chair next to her, " These are all our people could did up on 'Harry Potter'. I thought you'd want to see." The skinny girl, who had been looking at the folder as if it was some annoying homework project, perked up at the name, a flush of sudden excitement coloring her cheeks red. She suddenly turned her hungry gaze away from the stacked sandwich she had been clutching to a stray, egg-blue leaflet.

 

On the other side of her, Souls mouth twisted into confusion." Thanks, I guess." she said enthusiastically, then shot the lounging boy a shrewd look, "Why were you digging stuff up on him anyway? I thought he worked with your father- was I wrong?"

 

"Whoa whoa whoa-" interrupted Soul, just as Kidd began to answer,  "You guys have been stalking some associate of Lord Deaths?" The two turned to look at him, similar exasperated grimaces trained on him, even as his shark teeth flashed with each incredulous gesture of his fluttering hands.

 

"Yes." said Maka matter-of-factly, turning with a huff back to her sandwich and the manilla folder, "We are." Soul flicked his eyes up with a frustrated groan, slumping even further into his chair as if to say " _women!"_ and covered his face with his hands. Beside him he heard Kidd smother a low chuckle.

 

"I'm a little surprised, Soul, that you seem to care." Kidd said amusedly, smirking sideways at the grumbling scythe while serving himself a stray bite from Maka's cup of pudding, " You didn't seem the type." 

 

"Soul is an idiot." Maka interrupted before Soul could say anything (- _"Oi!"-_ ), her eyes scanning a lime pamphlet, " But he's a sensitive idiot, and Lord knows he's ambitious. Besides," here her eyes slid challengingly to her weapons, -" He probably guessed who we're _interested_ in."

 

The weapon scowled but rolled his eyes away from his meisters smug gaze. Soul grumbled an affirmation, "That Harry dude fucking _reeked_ of witch souls. We shouldn't meddle with shit like that- not unless you're nuts!"

 

He paused. "Nevermind. You _are_ nuts… When exactly did you stop being the prissy one?"

 

Maka hit him soundly over the head with an outdated Encyclopedia Britannia. "I was never the prissy one, baka-soul!"

 

"Oi! The hell!" yelped the silver-haired boy angrily, clutching his head. The fuming twin-tailed meister stuck her tongue childishly out at her weapon, before pointedly hunkered down over her pile of papers, separating the pile dramatically and handing half to the smiling Kidd and a quarter to the growling, snarling Soul- who scrambled to catch the thick pile of papers before they landed in the bowl of scrambled eggs.

 

"Oi! Hey Maka, I said _YOU_ were nuts not _me_! Oi! _Listen to me!!_ "

 

**2**

"…Enjoying yourself?"

 

"…"

 

"He does have an incredible resume doesn't he?"

 

"…"

 

" I tracked down one of his alias' from the previous century, James something-or-other…Hendrikson? Longfeather? Brown…Gra-"

 

"-Weatherbye. James Weatherbye."

 

"Yea! That one! Apparently rescued several antique masters draftsman paintings- One portrait and an on-tour landscape, the-"

 

"-Elenford Midnight. With all the weird cows."

 

"-Elenford Midnight, yes, with the impressionist cows- from a deliberate act of arson."

 

"…"

 

"He also knitted."

 

"…I know."

 

"Oh. You read that one? I didn't think it was him at first but…"

 

"…But?"

 

"It had a photo…"

 

"Wasn't it an….article from…four centuries ago? A photo?… Of HIM?!"

 

"No! They didn't have cameras! Of his _work_ Soul. He put in his signature, a weird little geometric puzzle. It sort of shows up everywhere that he's been. It's how Kidd tracked down the most recent stuff…Here."

 

"…This? A triangle and circle divided in half?"

 

"Yes. I haven't found anything online about what it means but theres loads of lore."

 

"Lore? Like fairytales?"

 

"Sorta. Lore is a lot more civilized, though, Soul- do keep up. It meshes together fairytales, real-life accounts, religious foundation, myths, legends and so on. For instance this symbol was called "the Bermuda Signature" by a small town of southern Spaniards, nearly three hundred years ago. There was a legend about it being the 'hickey' or 'kiss' of death in several other cultures, and some Scandinavian author wrote a whole essay about how it was inscribed on the talons of a great bird that habitually swallowed portions of his wheat field, by breathing fire and licking up the ashes…"

 

"Nutter."

 

"I wouldn't know, the bird figure shows up all over the place; Zeewoest, the spirit of the seas, the Rok, the Jabberwok, all different but _related_."

 

"You can't seriously think this dude is actually a big bird."

 

"I can't seriously think _anything_ yet Soul. I haven't read enough!"

 

"…You…terrify me."

 

"Thank you. So far we only know one thing- _one-_ and that is that 'Harry Potter' doesn't exist. Not anywhere, anytime, and certainly not now."

 

"…so?"

 

"So. He's either a ghost, lying- or he's what our research has been pointing to- a giant, violent, harbringer of death and calamity."

 

**3**

 

Harry cradled the small, porcelain cup of tea in one hand, letting the feeling of hot tea travel through his throat and calm him. Before him was a battered, leather-bound folder, splayed open and partially covered by loose leaflets, all pasted and adorned with a motley crew of photos and strips of text- his family, friends, enemies, allies, all the people who Harry wanted to remember. A shaking, pale hand softly traced one of the many faces of one of the many people, waving out at him. It was a boy, with a kerchief wrapped around his neck, and large ears. He grinned, eyes flashing golden, and Harry felt his fingertips warm against the photos surface- residual magic flaring across the piece of paper in eternally golden designs.

 

"Emrys…" Harry murmured, and the boy in the photo winked a ghostly wink. Smiling, the wizard turned the page, flipping lazily until the papers melted into sparse and gory pictures, most of them crimson, searching through time for that one person…

 

A whsiper- just the touch of lips on the breeze, and the papers rustled, stilling on a periwinkle sheet. The echo of a woman's laugh made Harry smile.

 

"Wiz kid!" a woman's voice called happily. The entire page was one, shiny digital photographical portrait of an argentinian woman. Her face was smooth, with just the barest lines of laugh marks dancing around the edges of her lips and crinkling the corners of her eyes- which sparkled a mirthful dark color at him, glossy and chocolate like the coiled braid of her hair. Her olive hands were folded primly over her lap, and the sun set over a tropical shoreline in the distance, it's rosy light the same shade as her floral skirt.

 

Besides being very naturally pretty, she was very normal looking, and ordinary.

 

"It has been a while, child." said the woman fondly, "It has been years since you last visited my page…is it a special date?"

 

The wizard sipped his tea, eyeing the woman with a wistful smile, "No, Nicola." he tapped her gently on the shoulder, "Though you look as beautiful as ever- your smile makes this date a good one anyhow."

 

"Oh you charmer, you!" Nicola giggled, swatting his finger away, "It's rather difficult, the whole ugly thing, when you cannot age past your prime. Now get your paws off my portrait- you're leaving oils!" She sniffed.

 

"Sorry, sorry." Harry said sheepishly. "Habit. "

 

The woman ginned sympathetically up at him, "Of course dear." she said kindly, "Of course. Now. To business-"

 

Harry scowled unrepentantly down at her stern face. "Nicoooola!"

 

"- what can I do for you, my child?" 

 

The wizard just sighed, exasperation writ in his faintly happy eyes, and polished up the last spot of amber tea from his cup. It immediately refilled.

 

"Nicola."

 

The world blinked out, until the universe was just dark void, a teacup, wizard, table, and shiny, worn portrait- all floating in the privacy of space.

 

"I'm going to live again."

 

**4**

 

"-Ron, but-"

 

"No, Harry. It's fine." the small picture nailed the brooding wizard with a piercing, awful scowl, offset a little by it's waggling finger. Red hair and red face, lit by anger. "Lord knows I've been trying and trying to hammer this through your thick scull- and I'll say it again-"

 

"Waitamminut, you kno-"

 

"You listen to me, Harry James Potter!" the redhead snarled, " It's been too long, you, here, moping around us! I won't have it! None of us will- so suck it up, and _go_!"

 

The wizard looked crushed, voice breaking, eyes shiny, pale hands shuddering and clenched, bone white, in the fabric of his robe.

 

"But I-"

 

" _Go._ "

 

**5**

 

He saw her. She saw him. There was no need for words- the tears tracking down her cheeks, and the watery, proud smile brining rosy color to her face were more than enough. He couldn't even find it in himself to feel betrayed by the sickening relief in her caramel eyes.

 

He said them anyways.

 

"Bye, Gin…"

 

And she didn't answer. She didn't need to.

 

**6**

 

"…Have you told Nicola?"

 

"Yes. I-I have. She promised to take care of you all, here."

 

"You're convinced then? You're going?"

 

"…"

 

"Harry…"

 

"I know! I know! I made this decision myself Holmes! If nothing else, I-I'll see it through."

 

"…You are stronger. Good luck."

 

"…"

 

"See you later, Harry Potter. It won't be quite so fun here."

 

"…But-"

 

"Good _bye_ , you insufferable prat! I said-!"

 

"Goodbye. I…I'll miss you too."

 

"Hmph."

 

**7**

 

Soul jolted out of his bed, blearily overwhelmed by the sudden clear thought that **there was something under his bed.** Vaguely he could register his hands scrabbling for the edge of his mattress and not the heaping mound of neoplotian ice cream he had been dreaming of- before the world was swinging upside down and he was fearfully gazing at the wooden underside of his bed frame. A couple long-legged, glossy spiders spun in the currents of his quickened breath, and a cold draft from the window tickled the back of his neck- but there was nothing there, no glowing red eyes, no rancid breadth, no glistening ivory claws. Nothing but the slight sounds of Souls harsh pants in the silence, the empty darkness, and the dusty wood floor.

 

His eyelids fluttered shut, the panic leaving them.

 

Soul sighed shakily, and, heaving himself upright, and nestled himself back into a tight cocoon of duvet covers and an uneasy sleep.

 

He didn't look out the window, turning his face into the warmth of his pillow with a mutter of embarrassed nonses and willing back his ice cream. If he had, he would have seen the faintest ripple of dark, twilight air, and a flash, a flicker of emerald eyes and a pale face, before the fabric of the world re-knit around the pith form of a single man.

 

**8**

 

Harry breathed in through his nose, chest rising and filling and throbbing there as the cold air swirled irrepressibly in his lungs. The burn of magic was heavy and acidic in his mouth, and it took everything in him not to exhale or gag as random sparks ignited against the flesh of his that and tongue. The burn remained, lulled eventually by his slow counting of sheep into a firewhiskey-like taste. Slowly, with reverence, Harry slipped his knife from it's thin scabbard on his forearm, silver engravings flashing quietly with rivulets of purple magic, and drew it in small loops against the skin the skin of his palm.

 

The air shuddered. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, his hand sure and steady as the point of the knife paused over the center of his hand, nose imbedded in a small bead of carmine. Soft words wound around his ears, carried by a soft breeze, and Harry knew it was the ritual, the circle encribed with blood ink on the floor around him- singing…With an explosive exhale the silver dagger plunged down, and a stormy grey magic swarmed from Harry's open mouth to the weeping wound.

 

"Shite." the wizard murmured half-heartedly as the magic boiled his skin, scalding hot. Thin streams of red-grey mist rose, entangled into the air, floating and quickly disappearing into the horizon. The pain was actually very little, the edges of the wound pulsing slightly with purple threads of anesthetic- but Harry ground his teeth anyways.

 

"Caeli," he murmured, desperately not looking at the speck in the distance that was, _used to be_ his home.

 

 "Maria-" the sky flickered blood red and a faint whistling screech rose in the air, like the shriek of a wind.

 

"Bellorum-" the earth shattered with thick, groaning heaves, dust rising even as thick black cracks sent chunks and boulders of soil and stone hurtling into a black abyss.

 

"-et omnia animalia."

 

With the heavy ring of a gong , the magic of the wizard filled the air, expanding for one blue moment into the very edges of the world, a sudden quiet, underwater pressure. Then the blue disappeared, snapping into itself and into nothingness, and the universe crumbled into nothing.

 

The sky was darkened where Harry stepped out of the crumbling archway to his pocket dimension and into the world where he was Master and Harry and an outsider. The flaring, purple sparks of disintegrating stones and leylines colored the sidewalk, and dimmed the brilliance of the stars overhead- casting Harry's long shadow across the floor of the long and narrow alleyway. A lone whistle of muffled cracks and booms bloomed in the night soundscape, and the scruffy wizard found his gaze bobbing back to the tear in space behind him, watching with a sense of detached sorrow as the torn and jagged edges of light slowly curled in on themselves, swallowing the macabre scene of houses and trees sliding into black sky and endless starlight. 

 

A flutter of gold and Harry sighed, watching as a rusted snitch wove through the falling and rising boulders, desperately dodging the corpses of plants and fences with quick, fly-like movements. 

 

"It's no use." he offered softly, turning away, knowing that the snitch would not make it out before the portal closed, even if he held it open for a bit longer, "You don't have a purpose anymore, and you won't have time to find a new one. Just rest."  As if to prove him right, the air at his back shuddered coldly, and with a moist 'thwack' the portal vanished in on itself.

 

_I open at the close- the paper read._

 

Gradually, the sounds of the city rose to swallow the silence- the distant cries of cats, and car alarms ringing in the gloom, dogs barking and babies shrieking. Harry gazed up at the sky and stars, finding them very different from the set he had just destroyed, his homes, and walked slowly from the alley. His shoes were silent, his breath even quieter, and his magic whispered soft alarms in his ear, like the low low hum of traffic, miles away. Not thinking of much besides his throbbing hands and the brisk winter air, Harry dragged himself out and into the moonlight, pausing before each door along the quiet street to let his magic gambol about like a wild horse, through the houses and dreams of people.

 

The night was clear and sharp with frost, and the air dampened by a soft rising mist. Behind him, in his footsteps, shards of escaped rocks and crumbled things from another world mixed with the snow before disintegrating, collapsing into fine brown dust and coloring the breeze. The street was silent, and purple, stretching a lonely, white distance to the horizon which was devoid of any particular sound except the normal sound of whistling wind and the not-so-normal sound of alien magic, bounding puppy-like through the buildings and around the lone wizard.

 

"Down boy." he said fondly, when an overload of ecstatic information flooded his brain with some-ones uneasy nightmares and boogie monsters and tomorrows groceries and…miesters. Amused, he flicked his eyes up to a window, where a child, a teenager's silver mop bobbed briefly in sight between a crack of curtain and glass. His magic snuffled, muttering about death scythes and destinies and war and familiarity. A sense of indignancy as well as a swell of curiosity transferred from his magic to himself.

 

"Now now, " he chuckled, looking away from the window and at his hands, which glowed soft grey and yellow hues, "We can't go knocking down doors in the middle of the night and accosting young children. It's only our first night."

 

His magic whined, pulling at him, before bounding off in thick tendrils to the window, licking off a taste of dark, nightmarish dream, and bounding back, waggling the evidence of unhappiness in his face. Harry frowned, stopping his slow treck through the snow and away from the window and alley. Hisses of war and vague uneasiness dripped from his magic, as well as a vague sense of for boding and awe at what Harry felt might have been a vision of him.

 

Gold sparked at his fingertips. "Fine." he told his magic, "I'll help the child- but only this one! Expecto Patronum." The incantation was mostly for nostalgia's sake, for the silver that burst from his hands coalesced into a small and unrecognizable form, a lean ivory key, before floating off into the gloom, towards the boy. Harry felt rather than saw that small protection charm worm it's way beneath the boys pillow and thrum there like a second heartbeat, chasing away the darkness with peaceful dreams. He looked back down to his hands, which pulsed a brief peach and gold color with happy magic, before huffing fondly.

 

"There you go, you bossy thing," he smiled, "Now how about you take us somewhere useful?"

 

And with a muffled crack he disappeared from the night.

 

**2**

 

_In the darkness, a single seed fell. Smooth sides, caught hazel and glossy in the light, spiraling in place and moving through an endless shaft of black and black and black- hissing softly as it cut through an imaginary air. It hit the ground, stilled, and floated there, bobbing and weightless, it's song reverberating through the emptiness as the soft sound of a paper cut, the quiet hum of butterfly wings, the muted meeting of a finger to a feather._

 

_Catch it. said a voice, but Death had no hands to reach for it, no eyes to see it with, no ears to guide him, fumbling and weightless, through eternity. He stilled, and knew, like a babe knows that opening it's eyes will mean cold and burning, stinging color, when that thin, gossamer seed began to whisper soft sprouts in being. A curled head of yellow here, a pea-green neck there, small white eyes the ruffled bud of a flower._

 

Don't touch _. warned the voice, J_ ust catch.

 

**"Are you enjoying your dream?" said Harry. The thin boy turned around in his pacing across the wood floor, his face rueful, and his eyes hesitantly straying to anywhere but Deaths own. In his hands he held a small gold coin.**

 

**"You!" Death gasped, feeling surprisingly unsurprised, and swung his feet in a way that guided his spiny chair in a smooth circle. It looked a bit like treading water, and something both dark, and bittersweet sparked in the wizards eye as he watched- unamused, as always.**

 

**"Yes," the wizard replied indulgently, "Me. I didn't really feel like talking to you face to face and dreams are better for multitasking."**

 

**That meant that Harry was elsewhere doing something more important- as he often was. Death still felt a little, lingering resentment for the callous rebellion, the subtle snubbing that had spanned the centuries that they had known each other. He remembered a much stronger distaste for the wizard, from his childhood, when he had seen the blood-soaked man and felt his destiny solidify, had felt eternity settle softly on his shoulder like an old coat- up until the wizard, so young, so small, so broken, had rejected him. Gazed on his with powerful eyes that saw him an an abomination, as cruel and painful when what they had should have been grudging respect and quiet harmony.**

 

**So Death said nothing. It was harder, these days, to pull Harry away from hole of sulking. It would get harder still if he antagonized him.**

 

_The sprout had grown into a tall and lovely tree, with a silhouette like a woman's figure, curvy and feline, and a single pink fruit. Death reached out, remembering that he had forgotten to steal Ori's apple today, and that lunch had been fishy and acidic- lingering in his mouth unpleasantly. He wasn't quite tall enough, his fingertips waving through the air and touching nothing but leaves and bark- but he bit his lips and jumped and waved and grunted anyways because he wanted. That. Fruit._

 

**Harry cleared his throat, jerking Death from his brief stupor. His gloved hands clenched the leather armrests violently.**

 

**"Ah," Harry squinted off to the side, still paced, "I was hoping that you might forgive me for, for yesterday. Blowing up in your face and, uh, yea."**

 

**Death opened his mouth, but Harry whipped his head around and caught his gaze.**

 

**"That is not to say, "he said fiercely, "That I was wrong. I don't support this. I never will. I-I..I can't. It just goes against," he made a strange, cage motion with his hands and said, with gravity, " _-everything._ "**

 

**"…Okay." said Death. It was just that- okay. He could hardly see what nonsense Harry was running through his head, but getting angry was just…getting angry. Whatever. But Harry looked like he had just taken the strawberry off his piece of cake. And eaten it. Whole.**

 

**"…Right." he coughed again - some throat issues maybe?-" That being said-"**

 

_A tall body pressed against his back, warm hands nudging him away from a warmer chest so he could stare, fascinated and a little jealous, up at the stranger who's arm disappeared in a flurry of green. Almond, morose eyes slid down to rest of his, smirking._

 

_"Catch." said the stranger, still elbow deep in the tree. An amused smile was flashed, and then a round pink fruit was falling, through the tangle of branches and into Death outstretched palms. Death cried out, caught the fluffy thing with both hands, fumbling with his feet to not knock into either the tall, darkly-dressed stinger, nor the tree. His toes snagged a root, the fruit flew up, the ground flew up and mashed into his nose, and for a long moment his fingers were much to far away, cupped around empty air, not able to catch the fruit._

 

_Then it fell, and landed right in his palms._

 

_The stranger was laughing._

 

**"- I'm going to help."**

 

**Harry stopped his pacing.**

 

**"I'm going to stay."**

 

**He was staring out the window, at a dark, twilight city-scape, the moon a grotesque, laughing thing that hung over it all and made his emerald eyes shine lemon.**

 

**"Maybe I'll settle in a place, an apartment or something. In the city too, if you don't mind. Or the dormitories if you can spare a room-"**

 

**"We can!" Death interrupted hastily, his mouth dry, "We d-do have several rooms!"**

 

**"-okay then." For the first time in the dream, Harry looked at Death. Death looked back. They nodded, ignoring the pale rawness of Harry's red eyes, puffy from crying, and the dimness there.**

 

**"Okay then." echoed Death, "I-"**

 

**"Yea." Harry coughed, in an action that Death was beginning to suspect was embarrassment or signaled a feeling of awkwardness (how cute).**

 

**"Shin." Death started, but swiftly caught the wizards raised gaze. His eyes were sincere- the same haunting green they always were, but this time, this gaze…Death looked into his Masters eyes and for the first time in a long time, could see the tiny emerald sparks of magic and destiny dancing there, like trapped souls, dancing for him. The way he had dreamed he would see his Master one day, peering into Harry's soul the same way that Harry seemed to casually be able to peer into his, hearing the voice of his master in his head, and with his ears, finally…finally…**

 

**"I will win this war." Harry said with a voice of thunder, " With you." _Not for you- but for the children_ when unspoken, hanging in the air as if Harry hadn't opened up his mind and lowered his shields so that Death could peer into him and see that old resentment there.**

 

**"I wouldn't have it any other way." said Death, quite happily, too happily if Harry's pink ears and disgruntled scowl meant anything, "You are my Master- not I yours. And I am not so weak to rely on a strength which is entirely not my own, in any way. Just.."**

 

**Harry's gaze was shuttered once more, leaving the edges of Death's mind frayed and raw. He hadn't even noticed it was being closed…**

 

**"If you keep running…if you had kept running, then I would have kept chasing. And sometime both of us would leave everything else behind us. Not just the mortal people, or the world. No. Your little powers too- you're homes and your trinkets, your time that you lived and have not lived…"**

 

**It was easy, when Harry was so powerful and cold, and distant, to forget Deaths wiseness, that he was older that Harry was, in some ways, and on some days. But Death, for all that he felt sometimes like a misbehaving child- was indomitable, and old. Just like Harry had become.**

 

**"I'm sorry it was not easier for you to embrace the Fate you were given. But I am selfish, " Harry jerked back slightly, but allowed Deaths hand to his cheek, eyes just as cold and flinty as ever, "-and as much as I am your servant, _you_ are _my_ Master."**

 

**He withdrew, breathing in the last traces of their last brief synchronization like the steam off of tea- silver warmth and memories, and the remembered feel of power sliding against power.**

 

**Death had cold eyes once more, and Harry was a little afraid.**

 

**"It will be easier now, no matter how much you wish it wouldn't be-…"**

 

_"Whats your name?" asked Death. He and the stranger sat themselves on the roots of the tree, Death with a small wince and an ungraceful 'thunk', and the stranger with a wheezing whoosh of air. The two gazed into the dream, which was all black, and took turns with the fruit._

 

_"It's Harry." said Harry. He was a tired looking man, but he smiled down at Death._

 

_"I'm Death." said Death, "I'm also Shinigami-sama. Thats what many people, call me."_

 

_Harry hummed softly, smiling at Death happy words and content eating noises. "It is a good name, " he murmured thoughtfully, "But I shall call you Shin."_

 

_"Why?" asked Death. Harry smiled one of those soft, not-looking-at-him smiles._

 

_"Because it's easier. And more like you."_

 

_Death took another bite of the fruit, and tasted Papaya._

 

**With a muffled crack, Death was standing before the wooden desk, his hands cradling empty air, and Harry was behind him, poised on the swivel chair with flaring robes and tortured eyes. The wizard brought one hand hand up, with a clipped 'And you wonder why I never visit' and snapped, a soft, sharp sound which disintegrated the sky and ground.**

 

Death woke up.

 


End file.
